I bought a handsome, aloof incubus online. But he wouldn't stop making that low humming sound, just standing there, staring at me in silence. His body was burning hot.

Worried he might be sick, I hurried to contact customer service.

After listening to my description, the person on the other end went quiet for a moment. Then they said, "Um... is it possible that your incubus isn't sick—he's just starving, maybe wanting to kiss you, or... do something else?"

I spent a small fortune online to buy an incubus.

The product description said he was handsome, aloof, with an eight-pack and a slim, powerful waist.

Most importantly, he was capable.

That last trait got me. Without much hesitation, I paid immediately.

But right after I placed the order, customer service reached out to me.

Customer service: [Hi, you around?]

Me: [Uh, yeah, what's up?]

Customer service: [Well, the incubus you just ordered… He does look good, but he's a little cold-tempered. Also, he's reached maturity, so his stamina… can be a bit overwhelming. If you think that might be too much, I'd suggest you cancel and let us recommend a gentler model instead.]

Me: [No need. The cold and capable type is exactly what I'm looking for.]

After reading that, the customer service agent sent me a message that sounded oddly like a blessing.

Customer service: [Alright then. He'll arrive at your home on schedule. Have lots of fun!]

A few days later, a broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted incubus with a cool, detached expression knocked on my door.

The moment I saw him, I froze.

Everyone knows the incubus race is unnaturally beautiful, almost too perfect—but this one?

He looked like some elegant, distant heir who'd lost a bet and decided to sell his soul.

"Master."

His voice was low and even, brushing against my ear like a soft fur brush—light, teasing, impossible to ignore.

I waved my hands, flustered.

"D-don't call me that. Just call me Angela. Do you… have a name?"

"My name is Orion Skylar."

As he spoke, he lifted his tail toward me—a sleek tail with a little heart-shaped tip. Beautiful, really.

"According to protocol, you need to hold my tail to confirm receipt."

"Oh, okay."

I hurried to take it. It felt smooth and pliant in my palm, pleasantly soft—like some kind of high-end toy. I couldn't resist giving it a gentle squeeze.

"...Mm." Orion let out a low sound, half a groan.

Startled, I let go immediately, guilt rushing up my throat. "I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?"

He lowered his eyes, Adam's apple shifting slightly as a strange, rumbling sound came from his throat—deep and rhythmic, almost like a purr.

"No. I just wasn't prepared."

"Oh, good." Thinking he was tense from nerves, I tried to reassure him. "Don't be nervous, okay? You can rest first if you want. You'll need a lot of energy later."

"If you wish, we could start now."

"Now?" I hesitated. "Well… sure, I guess."

"Good."

That rumbling in his throat grew louder.

I reached for his arm gently. "Why are you still so tense? It's okay. Once you get used to it, you won't be nervous. Come with me."

He followed obediently into the kitchen.

Then he stopped short.

"The… kitchen?"

"Yeah, the kitchen. What's wrong? You'd rather start in the bedroom?" I asked, genuinely trying to be considerate.

His eyes darkened, heat flickering beneath the calm. "...The kitchen is fine."

I nodded, turned around, and under his burning gaze, placed a brand-new dishcloth into his hands.

"All right, Orion," I said gently. "I'll be counting on you, my capable incubus. You do know how to wash dishes, right?"

"...Wash… dishes?"

Orion stared down at the dishcloth in his hand, his face flickering through confusion, disbelief, and despair.

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "If you don't know how to wash dishes, you can mop the floor, sweep, do the laundry—whatever other chores you can manage."

He blinked at me, stunned. "Wait. You bought me… to do housework?"

I blinked back. "Yeah. What else would I buy you for?"

"…"

The low rumble in his throat stopped dead.

That's right. I'd bought Orion purely to do housework.

The idea came to me by accident, during a chat with a coworker. She had also bought an incubus online. She was always bragging in the break room about how diligent and obedient he was—cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, all on his own—and how every night at home was pure bliss.

The others giggled in a strange way, but me, dense as ever, latched onto one crucial phrase:

Helps with housework.

My eyes practically lit up.

I'd been drowning in work, too exhausted to clean my apartment, which had turned into a full-blown pigsty. It drove me crazy. So, the idea of owning an incubus who could handle chores? Too good to pass up.

That's why I went straight for the most capable one on the site—Orion.

Now, glancing at his tall figure in the kitchen, his face cool and distant as he washed the dishes, I felt completely at ease. I went to bed that night in perfect comfort.

Over the next week, my capable incubus devoted himself to housework.

He was a little clumsy at first, but within a few days, he got the hang of everything. He was a quick learner.

When I woke up, he folded my blanket. When I washed my face, he handed me a towel. When I got home from work, dinner was already waiting on the table. And before bed, there was even a warm-bed service.

Lying under blankets that carried his body's faint scent and heat, I couldn't help letting out a long, contented sigh. My soul felt loose, unmoored.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

No wonder he cost so much. He was worth every penny.

The only thing that puzzled me was that he kept… making that sound. A low, steady rumbling in his throat, like a purr that never stopped.

At first, I thought it was nerves—him being new and uneasy. But a whole month passed, and he was still doing it.

Every night, he would crouch by my bedside, silent and still, not speaking, not doing anything—just watching me with those dark eyes that never blinked. His beautiful tail would sweep lightly across the floor, slow, almost sorrowful.

He looked… hurt.

Worried, I pressed my palm to his forehead. It was burning hot.

Was he sick?

Panicked, I patted the bed beside me. "Orion, don't sleep on the floor tonight. Come up here."

"I can sleep on the bed?"

He froze, surprised.

I took his hand, my heart aching. "Of course you can. You can sleep beside me from now on."

Once I said that, he carefully climbed into bed, clutching his blanket.

He nestled into my pink pillow, his handsome features still perfect and sharp, not a hint of distortion even under gravity.

The sight was almost too much—it made my throat go dry.

But he was still making that sound. His temperature felt even higher.

"Orion," I said softly, "you should get a good rest tonight. Don't worry about making breakfast tomorrow."

"But you'll be hungry."

"I'll just grab a bun on the way to work."

"That's not healthy," he said. "I'll make it for you."

He stared at me—no, stared at my mouth as I spoke, his eyes dark and heavy with something I couldn't name.

All I could think of was how sweet and considerate he was.

God, how could an incubus be this thoughtful, this caring?

It was my fault, I thought. I hadn't taken good enough care of him, and now he was unwell.

Guilt surged through me. I leaned in and kissed his forehead—just lightly—to show how sorry I was.

Orion's lashes trembled.

Orion's breath caught. He called my name, his voice low and hoarse.

"Angela…"

Just as he started to lift his arm to pull me in, I—completely unaware of what was going on—shifted back. Out of misplaced concern, I tugged the blanket up around him, tucking in both the arm he had just raised and that restless, twitching tail.

Afraid he might catch a cold, I even put on my most serious tone.

"Be good. Don't move around. And no kicking the blanket."

Orion closed his eyes like a man who had lost all hope of living.

After turning off the light, I lay down with my back to him.

Pulling out my phone, I opened the customer service chat box with a heavy heart.

Me: [Hi. My incubus seems… off.]

Customer service: [Hello, if you're having any basic care issues during the raising process, please consult the Incubus Care Manual. Ah… sorry, looks like I forgot to send you the manual last time.]

Me: [It's fine. But I don't think the manual will help. I'm worried he's sick… seriously sick.]

Customer service: [Can you describe the symptoms?]

Me: [He keeps making a rumbling sound, his body temperature's really high, and he keeps staring at me like he's sad or something.]

Customer service: [That's totally normal. It just means he enjoys being with you.]

My heart leapt.

Me: [Really? So that's normal? I thought I overworked him. He's been doing housework every day.]

There was a long pause before I got a reply.

Customer service: [Housework? Wait, you've been making your incubus do housework???]

Me: [Isn't that what they're for? Your ad said they're very capable—that they can give humans "the ultimate happiness" every day.]

Customer service: [Well, that explains why your incubus is acting strangely.]

I frowned.

Me: [So he is sick then?]

Customer service: [No. He's not sick. He's just… hungry.]

Me: [Hungry? But he eats three meals a day.]

A flurry of messages came through.

Customer service: [Not that kind of hungry. He's starving for affection—he wants to kiss you, or maybe… do other things.]

Customer service: [Incubi aren't for chores, they're for helping humans relieve their desires.

In other words, your incubus is in a state of extreme hunger and craving—you, specifically.]

Customer service: [But unfortunately, he's been throwing seductive looks at someone who's completely oblivious.]

The message ended with a meaningful smiling emoji.

Hungry for me? Craving?

What the hell?

I finally opened the Incubus Care Manual—and fell silent.

Turns out, incubi weren't meant for chores. That "capable" I'd read in the listing… didn't mean what I thought it did.

I turned around.

Orion, whom I thought had fallen asleep, was awake.

He was staring at me again, eyes full of wounded longing—and now, unmistakably, shaped like hearts. His tail, hidden under the blanket, brushed lightly against my waist. Just barely. Gentle enough that I hadn't noticed until now.

When he saw me look back, he froze and hurried to tuck his tail away. But almost immediately, it started inching back toward me, rustling softly against the sheets.

Then, in a low voice, he whispered—his tone clear but sweetly sticky, like candy laced with mint, "Master… I feel awful."

He'd said that before, in the same clinging tone. Back then, I thought he had a cold and was just being whiny.

So I, ever so kindly yet ruthlessly, made him drink several cups of hot water.

It worked, in a way. He'd stopped making noise that night—but his face had gone dark and sullen, like a small dog sulking in the corner.

But now…

Remembering what the customer service rep said, guilt pricked at me. I cleared my throat softly.

Then I lifted my blanket.

"Do you… want to share my blanket?"

Orion froze for a beat. Then, in a husky whisper, he said, "I do."